When You Need A Job, You Just Keep Knocking

It's just another day in America, and here is Sarah Ratchford in her business finest, lining up in a faceless hotel conference room in East Hartford for yet another job fair.

To get here by the fair's 11 a.m. opening, Ratchford left her downtown Hartford apartment to catch a 9:10 bus. Finding a bus into Hartford at that hour isn't hard. Finding a bus out is a whole other prospect. There's a metaphor in there, but who cares?

The new busway may make things easier. That would be nice, because Ratchford's life for the past few years has been one long series of standing in line.

Today, she comes with multiple copies of her two-page resume printed on thick, ivory-colored stock. Her last job was eliminated a year ago. She hasn't worked since, and sometimes the smile on her face is fake. Her landlord has been the soul of patience, but the man has bills just like everyone else, and Ratchford figures he is about to lose patience with her partial rent payments. And she won't blame him if he does.

She's been an office assistant, a private companion and a youth mentor. She originally intended to study early childhood education in college, but chose to work in jobs she could leave at the office. Her unemployment benefits are done. She'd take anything, but she has Paget's disease, which weakens bone and prevents her from standing for long periods, so there go all the sales jobs hanging like fat grapes on the vine just overhead.

She scours the want ads, though she's learned the hard way that some of those postings aren't real. They're shadows. Some companies post jobs that aren't even available yet. Old postings float forever on the Internet. Or companies hold jobs open until the absolute perfect candidate shows up. Or the job is already filled by someone with the appropriate work visa, but the federal government requires a company to periodically make sure there are no citizens equally qualified for the job.

Some job postings may be nothing more than a human resources professional checking off an item on a list, but here Ratchford goes, on a bus, dressed up and hopeful. You win some. You lose some, but you suit up for every game, and she doesn't have the luxury of being discerning. She takes each posting seriously, even the random, somewhat unintelligible email that starts: "Our actively expanding company starts a vacancy of a business correspondence reviewer." It's a scam but she at least has to give it a little consideration, because what if it wasn't?

Rejection can gnaw at you. You wonder if you have what it takes. The real estate office, the mortgage company, Macy's, Casual Corner — gone. Poof! Just like that. She's 56 but feels older. Yes, ma'am. Thank you. We sure will get back to you. Thank you for applying. Dear applicant.

She's smart. She's a good writer and a good advocate. When she took classes at Beat of the Street Center for Creative Learning, she often led class discussions on everything from press conferences to navigating the homeless system. Chomping at her heels is the prospect of being homeless again. She did that for a few years, bounced in and out of shelters, and she can't go back to that.

Today, she hands out five resumes. She smiles. She enthusiastically recites her qualifications, though she figures at best just one posting might have real potential. But you know how these things go. She can't tell you the number of times she's been sent home with a promise of a phone call. Thank you, ma'am. Thank you, dear applicant.

It's hard. The economic recovery everyone talks about feels like it's happening miles overhead. Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. She adjusts her face, and smiles brightly. Tomorrow is another day.